"I suppose he's going to do something with those two machines?"
Andersen's fan stopped in midmotion. "I believe so."
"And how long has he been in your charge?"
"Twenty-three days."
Berdichev laughed. "It isn't possible. It takes our best engineers months to learn how to operate those things."
"Four months intensive training," said Blake from the back of the viewing room.
"And he's taught himself?"
Andersen licked his lips to wet them. "In two days."
Berdichev sat back, laughing again. "I do believe you're making fun of me, Director Andersen. Wasting my valuable time. If that's so . . ."
Andersen bowed deeply. "Believe me, Shih Berdichev, I would never dream of such a thing. Please, be patient. I'm certain the boy will not disappoint you."
The door at the far end of the lecture room opened and T'ai Cho entered with the boy. Andersen, watching Berdichev, saw him frown, then a strange expression cross his face.
"Where did you find the boy?"
Blake answered before Andersen could find his tongue. "In the Western Island, sir. He comes from the Canton of Cornwall."
Berdichev nodded. A strange sobriety seemed to have gripped him. "Ah, yes. I know it well. I went there once. With friends."
T'ai Cho knelt down, talking to the boy a moment, then he let him go. Kim ran across the room, a naked eagerness in his face. Climbing up onto a stool, he set to work at once, dismantling the insides of the trivee, then dragging the heavy ArtMold machine closer to him.
Berdichev, watching the boy, felt himself go cold inside. The resemblance was uncanny; a grotesque distortion of the original, admittedly, yet in some ways so like him that simply to look at the boy was to bring all those feelings back. All the love and guilt and hurt.
Edmund, he thought; you're Edmund Wyatt's son. I'd swear it.
He watched, barely conscious of what the boy was doing; aware only of that strange and unexpected likeness. He should have looked at the holo Blake had given him. Should have found time to look at it. But he had been too busy. Otherwise he would have come here before now, he was certain of it.
Normally he would have dismissed it at once as one of those strange tricks life played on men, but in this case it all fitted. Fitted perfectly. The boy was not only the right age but he came from the right location.
Edmund was with me. Down there in the Clay. Seven years ago. Edmund, Pietr, and I. Down there in the darkness below the City. Yes . . . he was there when we went to see the King Under the City, the Myghtern, in his castle in ancient Bodmin. Was there when we visited the Myghtern's singsong house. And now his seed has returned. Back from the dark.
He shuddered and stood up. "I've seen enough."
Andersen, flustered, bowed deeply. The color had gone from his face and his eyes were wide with sudden panic. "I beg you, Excellency, wait. Please, wait just a little longer. He's only just begun."
Berdichev turned to Blake, ignoring him. "Have you the contract?"
Blake pulled the contract from his carry pouch and handed it across.
For a moment Berdichev hesitated, looking down at the contract, wondering what was best. His first instinct had been to tear it to shreds, but now he didn't know. He looked back at the boy. If he was Edmund Wyatt's son—and there was a quick way of proving that he was, by genotyping—he was not worth a single jen, let alone twenty million yuan, for his life was forfeit under the law that said all the family of a traitor shared his fate, to three generations ascending and descending.
He looked at Andersen. The man was almost shitting himself. "Ten million," he said.
He would delay. Perhaps he would even get the genotype done and make certain. But then? He shivered. Then he would do nothing.
"Fifteen," Andersen answered, his voice betraying how intimidated he felt.
"Ten, or I ask my friends in the House to close you down in two weeks, not eight."
He saw Andersen blink with surprise, then swallow. Seeing how things were, the Director bowed his head.
"Good. Then we'll finalize at once." But he was thinking, Who else would see the resemblance? Who else would know about our visit to the Myghtern? Who now but Lehmann and I?
Maybe it would be all right, then. And perhaps, after all, he could help his dead friend. Perhaps now he could ease the guilt he had suffered from since Edmund's death.
Berdichev shivered then looked back at the boy. Yes, and maybe I can do myself a favor at the same time.
WHEN IT WAS all over T'ai Cho came back into the lecture room. He was carrying a tray and in his pocket was something the Director had given him to return to Kim. He set the tray down on the desk beside the ArtMold, then sat on the stool next to Kim.
"Things went well this morning," he said, reaching out to ruffle Kim's dark fine hair. "The Director was very pleased with you."
"Why should he be pleased?"
T'ai Cho looked down. "He was watching what you did. And with him was someone very important. Someone who has de-. cided to ... adopt you."
"Adopt me?"
"Oh, don't worry, Kim. You'll be here until you're sixteen. But then you'll join one of the companies. The one that makes this, as a matter of fact."
He reached out and touched the modified ArtMold, still surprised by what Kim had done.
"Berdichev," said Kim.
T'ai Cho laughed, surprised. "Yes. How did you know?"
"It was on a newscast two days back. They said he owns SimFic."
"That's right." And now he owns you. The thought disturbed T'ai Cho, though why it should be different with Kim than with all the others he didn't know. It was what happened to all his charges in time. They were saved, but they were also owned. He shivered, then reached out and took the cup from the tray and offered it to Kim, then watched as he gulped the drink down savagely.
"I've something for you too," he said, filling the cup once more from the jug. "We don't usually let our boys keep anything from their time in the Clay, but Director Andersen thought we should make an exception in your case."
T'ai Cho took it from his pocket and put it into Kim's hand, closing his fingers over it.
Kim opened his hand, then gave a small laugh. He held the pendant up and touched the dangling circle with one finger, making it spin. It slowed, then twisted back, spinning backward and forward. He seemed delighted with the gift, yet when he looked up at T'ai Cho again his eyes were dark with hurt. "What is it?" T'ai Cho asked. "Bodmin."
T'ai Cho shook his head. "What? I don't follow you, Kim." "The place I came from. It was called Bodmin, wasn't it?" T'ai Cho laughed, surprised. "Why, yes, now I come to think of it. But how did you find out?"
Kim leaned forward and dipped his finger in the mug, then drew on the worktop, dipping his finger each time he formed a letter.
"An arrow. A space. A woman's breasts. A ring. A drawn bow. Two steep hills. An upright column. A gate. An eye with a curled eyebrow. It was a sign, close by the Gate. Six ft." "Miles," said T'ai Cho. "But it doesn't matter. I'm surprised." "Why?"
T'ai Cho was silent a moment. "Do you remember everything?"
Kim shook his head, the hurt back in his eyes, stronger now than before. "No. Not everything. I was asleep, you see. For a long time I was asleep. And then I woke. The light woke me."
CHAPTER NINE
Wuwei
DARKNESS LAY on the water like oil. It was almost dawn, but day would be a month coming this far north. They lay there silently in the flatboats, half a li •____ from the shore of the island, waiting for the signal in their heads. At ten minutes past five it came and they began to move in, their faces and hands blacked up, their wet suits blending with the darkness.
Hans Ebert, commanding the raiding party, was first ashore. He crouched on the slick stone steps, waiting, listening for sounds above the steady slapping of the water on the rocks below.